Window
by Running Up Fawn
Summary: "Let me find my way // I'll take you to the edge // Go across that window // And I'll carry you there.." (J/S beginnings)
1. Throw

Title: Window

Author: Lauren / Running Up Fawn

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. I couldn't handle them, anyway. I'm again borrowing the title and summary from Guster, this time from "Window".

Author's Note: This is the first in a series of vignettes..I don't really want to call it a WIP. A look into the very beginning of Jack and Samantha; this part is set a few months after Samantha joins the team. Sam's POV, for now. Maple Street...I'm so lucky to be a part of such an incredible forum. Thanks also to Jordan, for the 'series of vignettes' idea. 

"Samantha?"

Shit. 

Being startled out of a deep sleep is bad enough, but when it's your boss doing the startling...well. I rubbed my eyes furiously, all the while spewing apologies and trying to ignore the ache in my stiff back.

"God, Jack, I'm so sorry..I don't know what happened.." A glance at my watch told me I'd been asleep for over twenty minutes, and I felt a flush spread across my cheeks.

He smiled, his hand resting on the back of my chair.

"I do." Under his warm gaze, I felt some of the shock at being awakened start to drain away. He nodded to the papers I'd been sprawled over just a few minutes ago. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

Half an hour? "Not much," I admitted with a wry smile. "I was going over this stuff pretty late, but still.." Less than four months into the job, and I was already screwing up.

"But nothing," and his voice took on the slightly rough, commanding intonation to which I'd become accustomed over the past weeks. "Don't kill yourself, Samantha. We need you too much." With a nod and that brief, intriguing half smile, he disappeared out of my cubicle.

After a moment, I turned back to the endless display of white and tried to convince myself that my increasing heart rate had nothing to do with my boss. Nothing at all.

"Sam, I need you and Vivian all over the ex-boyfriend. Find out everything he knows, when he saw her last, and why he called her three times the day before she disappeared. Danny, you and I.."

Sam? Where had that come from? Ever since I met Jack, it had been Agent Spade, or, more recently, Samantha. I probably shouldn't have been surprised..he usually called Vivian 'Viv', and Danny..well, Danny, but that was a nickname in itself. Still, Sam..it sounded so casual, and..familiar. Very familiar. My own mother didn't even called me Sam and I wasn't quite sure how I felt about it. He looked distracted, I noted as I followed Vivian out of the office. Maybe I would say something later. 

Maybe.

"He reminds me of an ex-boyfriend of mine," I commented to Vivian on our return trip to the unit.

"Yeah? How's that?" She gave me a sideways glance before returning her eyes to the road. It was dark, and the streetlights cast a brilliant glare on the shiny, government issued vehicle.

"Needy. Annoying. Weak." I gave a wry shrug.

A brief smirk from the other woman.

"So you don't think he had anything to do with her disappearance?"

"Doubt it. His alibi is solid, and he seems more pathetic than malicious."

"Agreed." Vivian pulled the car into the unit's lot, and turned to me. "Do you mind going over this with Jack?" She nodded to the clock. "I should be getting home.." Her tone was apologetic.

"Not at all." A reassuring smile. "Night, Viv. See you in the morning."

"Good night, Samantha. Make sure you get some rest, okay?"

"Will do."

The FBI building was quiet as I walked through its glass doors, and I wondered when I had become so comfortable here. Through the doors, down the carpeted hallway, a left at the elevator..it was all so routine. I liked that; familiarity mitigated the rookie feeling that was still sometimes all too overwhelming. 

The elevator doors slid open, and I made my way through the nearly deserted unit to Jack's office. I knocked softly on the half open door, and, looking up, he motioned me inside.

"Hey, Sam." His words were accompanied by a gesture to the chairs opposite his desk.

Sam again. I could say something, or..

Or I could enjoy and simultaneously try to ignore the slight shiver that raced up my spine when the nickname slipped off his lips. 

Tough decision, that one.

"What'd you and Vivian find out?"

I settled into one of the chairs before answering.

"They split up about a month ago. Since then, he's seen her once a week at their sign language class. Apparently, they decided to sign up for the class together, and neither dropped it when the relationship ended. Last time he saw her was at class on Monday night."

"Did he say how she seemed?"

"Said they hadn't really talked much since the breakup, but as far as he could tell, she was fine. He also said he called her three times because he missed her."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "_He missed her?"_

"Yeah, I know it sounds weak, but I think he's telling the truth. His alibi checks out, too..he was helping a friend move."

Jack made a note on the paper in front of him. "Okay. The parents weren't much help, either. The relationship seems very.." A wrinkle creased his forehead as he searched for the right word "..distant, I guess. They haven't seen her for over two weeks, even though she only lives fifteen minutes away."

I nodded. There was a moment of silence, which was probably my cue to exit, but I wasn't ready to leave. I smiled at the pictures adorning Jack's desk.

"Those your daughters?" It was a double frame, containing one picture of little girl a in a yellow basketball uniform, holding a trophy, surrounded by other little girls in identical yellow uniforms, and one picture of another, younger looking girl, wearing huge black sunglasses and a floppy hat much too large for her head. Cute. Very cute.

Jack's tense face relaxed into a genuine smile. "Yeah, that's Kate," he pointed first to the girl in the hat and sunglasses, "and Hanna."

"They're adorable. That must have been some game." I couldn't help grinning at the relaxed pride I saw on Jack's face.

"It was just a summer league, you know?" He smiled, and I thought I detected a wistful note in his tone. "They treated it like the Final Four, though..parents, kids, and coaches. Hanna was so nervous for the championship game, but she played great..made some wild shot in the last few seconds. The score ended up being six to four, or something like that." He lifted his eyes from the picture, and I was stunned to discover the barriers normally so rigidly in place in those dark eyes had fallen away.

"Where does she get her athletic skills from?" I didn't know why, but I was desperate to stay in this office, and talk with him about something other than cell phone records, money trails, and leads.

Jack snorted. "Not from me. I didn't even like gym class. Marie, my wife..she played volleyball all through high school, and during her first years in college. I'm guessing she passed her athletic prowess onto Hanna." He looked at me curiously. "Any sports for you?"

I smiled as a wave of memories coursed through me. "Field hockey and softball. I loved them both, but especially softball."

"Yeah? What position?"

"Third base, mostly. Sometimes I hung out in center field."

"Really." He leaned back, regarding me with an air of something I couldn't quite figure out. "I would have taken you for a shortstop."

"Why's that?" 

His dark eyes pinned me to my chair; I couldn't have moved even if I wanted to, which I didn't. In that moment, something passed between us..something palpable, but unidentifiable..something deeper than I was willing to go. 

For now.

Jack broke the stare first, shrugging as a grin quirked on his lips. "No real reason."

I shook my head, surprised as a peal of bemused laughter bubbled over. Maybe my exhaustion was making me giddy. 

Yeah, that was it.

Jack glanced at his watch before turning back to me.

"It's getting late. You better get some rest." It was a dismissal that didn't feel like one, a teasing tone supported by an undercurrent of genuine concern.

"Yeah, you're right. I don't think my back can handle sleeping in that chair again, anyway." I stood, offering a soft smile. "Good night, Jack."

"Night, Sam. See you tomorrow."

Just like that, the nickname was as natural as the corridor I turned down, as natural as the elevator I rode to the ground floor, as natural as the glass doors I walked through once again.

As natural as falling asleep with his face etched across my mind. 

Yeah. 

Natural.

TBC..


	2. Away

Window, Part 2

Author's Note: This is set approximately four months after the previous installment..around Christmastime G. 

Because it always needs to be said: Maple Street is the most awesome forum in the whole world wide web. I adore you all..thank you x 1000 for the feedback and encouragement.

"Any plans for Christmas?"

The cold was biting, and it cut easily through the dark winter coat I'd elected to wear. Less than a week away from the holiday in question found Danny and I returning on foot to the unit after a frustratingly unsuccessful interrogation.

"Danny, why are we walking?" I wasn't in a good mood. It was freezing, I was tired, and we had nothing new to report. The crowded streets packed with holiday shoppers who seemed oblivious to the Arctic temperatures did nothing to improve my mindset.

Danny was thoroughly amused by my grumbling.

"It's three blocks, Samantha. Hardly worth driving."

"Well, it's cold." A deep breath, as I jammed my hands in my pockets. I never could remember gloves. "Sorry. To answer your question, visiting my mother, I think."

Sure couldn't wait for _that_ visit. I could visualize the conversation now. There would be the usual formalities, of course, and then I would inevitably be subjected to a barrage of disapproving observations centering around the fact that I was unmarried and hadn't been in a serious relationship since my previous marriage, which, in my opinion, didn't even count. I wondered idly what my response would be this time.

'Well, mom, there's someone I may have fallen for..yeah, he's great. Works the tall and dark thing really well, he's motivated, intriguing, funny..oh, did I mention he's also my married boss? Guess not..'

Heh. Even though the situation really wasn't humorous at all, especially because it was becoming increasingly more difficult for me to avoid my growing feelings for Jack, the thought of her reaction lifted my spirits considerably. I love my mom, but her 'a woman is nothing without a man' mentality got old sometime in the eighteen hundreds. It's not her fault, I suppose, since the idea was undoubtedly drilled into her by my father. 

I shook myself out of my thoughts and squinted up at Danny.

"What about you?" I spoke carefully. I didn't know much about the family Danny had lost, but I could imagine that holidays were an especially difficult time for him.

He gave me a smile, though, a real one, as we left the cold behind and entered the FBI building. 

"Spending the day with a friend and his family. It's kind of a tradition, I guess." 

I was glad to hear that, and I let him know. Over the past months, Danny had become a close friend, and it was reassuring to know he wouldn't be alone during what could be the loneliest time of year.

I was numb. 

Two days had passed since Danny and I made that walk in the bitter cold, and, though I was now sheltered in the warm, heated unit, the icy feeling had returned full force. 

It was December 24. Christmas Eve, and we'd just returned from the discovery of the mutilated body of Ethan Wood, the eight year old boy for whom we'd been searching during the past seventy-two hours.

I was in my cubicle, pen in hand, trying in vain to finish up my report. The words swam in front of me, and it took all my strength to even begin to describe what we had found.

Beaten. Raped. Killed.

Thinking about Ethan Wood's skinny little body, marred almost beyond recognition and tossed carelessly in a ditch beside the road..it was too much. 

I stood up and began to walk slowly around our nearly deserted floor, willing my stomach to calm and trying to keep the tears at bay just long enough to finish the stupid report, and then I could go home and try to deal with the haunting images that were now making concentration impossible.

Except Ethan Wood was never going to go home again.

My little walk had taken me to the partially open door of Jack's office, and, against my better judgment, I pushed it open further and stepped inside.

He was sitting at his desk, head in his hands, and he looked up slowly as I entered.

There was no trace of the unbreakable facade I saw so often during our work together. His shoulders were slumped, his face drawn, his eyes tormented.

I didn't know what to say, or if there even was anything to say. He stood and walked to the window, glancing out before turning his tortured gaze back to me.

"What do I say, Sam?" His voice was rough, wild. "When his parents call and want to know why their little boy isn't going to be home for Christmas, when they want to know why some bastard kidnapped, raped and murdered their child..what do I tell them?" The last query was barely a rasping whisper. 

There were no words.

I crossed the room until I was only a foot away from him and, completely unsure of what I was doing, closed the remaining distance, wrapping my arms gently around his neck in a soft, mindless hug.

He was stiff for an instant, increasing my uncertainty, before his body relaxed and his arms closed warmly around my back.

The tension slowly drained away, and I couldn't believe how comfortable I was, how comfortable _this_ was, as if it wasn't the first time we'd clung desperately to each other, trying to ward off the terrors we'd witnessed. I closed my eyes; the bitter and sweet of this moment was something I wanted to feel, not see.

I don't know how long we stood like that, but by the time we pulled apart tears were streaming freely down my cheeks and I didn't care enough to wipe them away.

Instead, I laid a hand on his arm.

"Tell them..tell them there's not always a reason." My eyes searched his. "Tell them it's better not to ask why, because to do that is to give up hope, and accept that there are people cruel enough to rape and murder a little boy with no motive whatsoever. Tell them to remember his life, instead of the end of it." My voice was trembling, and I didn't know if what I was saying made any sense at all. What sense was there to be made out of the murder of an innocent eight year old?

He nodded, and, after a few deep breaths, offered me a shaky smile. Through my tears, I returned it.

"You getting out of here?" After a moment, he sounded almost normal.

I glanced back out of his office. "I was going to finish up my report first.."

"Leave it. You can finish it later, okay? It's been a long day." He shook his head at the understatement.

"Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Jack." My voice revealed my relief at this temporary escape from the horror.

Black eyes again bored into mine. Under his intense gaze, I was naked, completely exposed.

I liked it.

"Hold on a sec." Turning back to his desk, he rummaged around briefly before retrieving a gift wrapped box. 

"Merry Christmas." His mouth curved into a small smile as mine fell open in surprise.

"Wha..Jack, no. I can't..I don't even have anything for you!" 

I must have looked as stricken as I felt, because an amused chuckle escaped him before he again grew serious, and his voice dropped an octave when he spoke. 

"Gifts don't always come in packages, Sam."

He regarded me steadily, honestly, while I tried to speak over the lump in my throat. 

"Merry Christmas, Jack."

I sat on the crowded subway, package in hand, and debated waiting until I got home to open it. That didn't last very long, and soon I slid the paper aside, opening the box to reveal a shrink-wrapped, neon green softball.

Then I was laughing and sobbing at the same time, overwhelmed by the touching simplicity of the gift. I couldn't help but imagine the smirk that must have been on Jack's face as he picked it out, and I wondered at how, in its intensity, joy could be just as filling and shocking as pain.

People were staring as I tore the shrink wrap apart and rolled the ball between my frozen hands, but I couldn't bring myself to care. The texture, the faint new smell, the stark red stitches..everything was a reminder of simpler, easier days..times when the only things I had to worry about were stopping the grounder and nailing the throw to first.

Still clutching the brilliant green ball, I rested my forehead against the hard wall of the subway. Life was so complicated now; brimming with turmoil and confusion and heartache. The softball was an anchor, though, proof that some things didn't have to be devastating and difficult.

Things like a warm hug in the office after a draining day, or a gentle smile that accompanied the soft good night.

It was a reminder that not all gifts came in packages.

TBC..


	3. Those

Window, Part 3

Author's Note: So much love to everyone at Maple Street..you guys rock hardcore. This is set about three months after the previous chapter.

My heart raced, and blood pounded so hard in my ears that I almost couldn't hear him over the deafening noise in my head. 

"I don't know about this, Sam." Tense, worried and full of static due to poor reception, the mere timbre of his voice still managed to soothe my panicked nerves. 

"I hate sending you in there alone."

"Jack, don't you dare give up on me now." I was almost hysterical with the dire intensity of the situation.

Nine year old Andrea Solari had been missing for twenty-three hours. Less than ten minutes ago, I'd received an anonymous phone call at the unit, directing me to an abandoned warehouse located only eight blocks away. Technically, I wasn't alone, as there were two terrified uniformed officers behind me, but entering this black hole of a place, I felt that way, save for Jack's voice in my ear. I clung to the cell phone like a lifeline.

"She doesn't have much time." I was whispering and I wasn't sure why.

"I know, I know." Jack was thinking out loud. "The rest of the uniforms won't be there for at least five minutes, Viv and I are twenty minutes away and Danny is a half hour in the other direction. Damn it, I don't think we can wait for the rest of the uniforms."

"Neither do I," I agreed, quietly pushing the back entrance open and slipping inside. It was only seven o'clock at night, but the interior was so dark I couldn't see two feet in front of me. Pulling out a flashlight meant letting go of my gun, because there was no way I was letting go of my phone.

I backed against the wall, slightly calmed by the sound of Jack's breathing in my ear. The uniforms stayed directly behind me as I cautiously shined the light around.

"We're in a kind of hallway, Jack," I informed him as we slowly made our way forward.

"Did the caller give any information as to where she might be?"  
"Nothing, just an address. Oh, and 'hurry'. That's about it."

"Okay. Be my eyes, Sam. Tell me everything, and watch your back." He sounded so far away, but even over the distance there was a low, soothing quality to his voice; I didn't hear it so much as feel it.

"We're coming to the end of the hallway. It smells kind of musty. Really old, I guess. It's so dark..okay, we're in a small room now. It's full of old crates and boxes. Storage, probably. There's a partially open door on the other side..oh shit, Jack. That looks like smoke.." 

Still clutching the phone, I raced across the room, stopping just in front of the door.

It was open wide enough to slip through, and I did, even as I heard Jack's cries of "Be careful" resonating in my ear.

A quick once over told me that the room I had entered was huge, and rapidly filling up with heavy gray smoke. I located the source of the smoke in the far corner of the room; a small but steadily growing fire climbing up a mountain of crates identical to those I had seen in the small room. 

"Oh God, there's a fire, Jack. I don't see her anywhere.." I was frantically scanning the warehouse, as my eyes began to tear from the fierce smoke.

Then I saw her, partially blockaded from view by more wooden crates. To my horror, I saw that the crates had been arranged in a kind of crude circle around the bound young girl, and the flames were making their way around the formation.

"Oh, hell."  
I sprinted across the room, ignoring everything I'd ever learned about fire safety and smoke inhalation. 

In the back of my mind, I heard one of the uniforms scream for the fire department, and I realized I was still clutching my own phone. 

By now, the brilliance of the fire had rendered my flashlight useless and I dropped it, squinting against the harsh smoke.

Gasping for air, I finally reached the horrifying circle of crates, most of which were already up in flames.

Dropping to my knees, I found a small section of boxes that hadn't caught fire yet, and, pushing them aside, managed to reach in and close my arms around the limp body of Andrea Solari.

Her ankles and wrists were tied, a piece of tape covered her mouth and she was unconscious; because of the smoke or her kidnapper, I didn't know.

Lucky for me, she was a slender girl, and easy enough to carry. Half crawling, half walking, I held the girl to my chest and made my way out of the smoke filled room. I was blind, unable to see anything through the fierce cloud of gray, but I somehow managed to stumble to the opposite side of the warehouse, and hand the still unconscious Andrea Solari to the uniformed officers.

The night air was cool, and it felt wonderful on my overheated skin. I sat on an overturned wooden crate outside of the warehouse, half watching the firefighters who had arrived on the scene, and half watching the paramedics attend to Andrea Solari.

"Sam!"

I lifted my head wearily as his voice carried over the chaos, and smiled a greeting as he made his way toward me, Vivian not far behind.

His hand dropped warmly to my back, and he crouched down so we were eye to eye.

"Are you okay?" There was so much concern in his voice; I hastened to reassure him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." A small grin. "A little dirty, though." My voice was scratchy, and I began to wonder how much smoke I really had inhaled.

"Looks like you got to play the hero, Samantha." Vivian's tone was teasing but her smile was genuine, and I returned it.

"We better go talk to forensics and the other officers," Jack spoke to Vivian as he removed his hand from my back. "Don't move, Sam; you should probably get checked out by the paramedics."

I nodded, having no intention of moving.

As Jack and Vivian departed, a tiny girl who looked to be about five years old approached me. Her eyes were large and dark, and her voice was very solemn when she spoke.

"Thanks for saving my sister."

I wasn't sure how to respond, so, blinking back the tears forming behind my eyes, I settled on "You're welcome".

"My name's Isabella Solari." She had crawled up next to me on my crate, and I noticed that her feet barely brushed the ground.

"Samantha Spade," I responded.

"That's pretty." She was silent for a moment, before she nudged me and pointed to Jack. "He's cute," she whispered, and I couldn't help but grin down at her.

"That's Jack. He is kinda cute, isn't he?" Suddenly I wasn't feeling so tired anymore. Leaning down to the girl's level, I spoke in her ear. "Why don't you go give him a hug? I bet he'd like that."

Isabella's eyes lit up before sobering immediately.

"He'd like it more if you did," she informed me matter-of-factly.

"Why do you say that?" I was surprised by the girl's quiet precociousness.

"Because he likes you," she stated, as if this was an obvious fact. She brightened again. "I'll say that it's from you." 

Before I could respond, Isabella had scampered off across the lot and tossed her arms around Jack's legs. 

The look on Jack's face was priceless; a mixture of surprise, slight embarrassment and a kind of shy joy. He bent down to Isabella as she whispered something in his ear, kissed his cheek and skipped away.

He stood, a perplexed look crossing his features, and I could see the dull blush from my slightly less than comfortable seat on the wooden crate.

Our eyes met across the overgrown lot and his lips curved into the playful half smile that had become so familiar, but still managed to cause a jump in my stomach as I returned it.

I was soon accosted by the remaining paramedics, who poked and prodded at me until I was very close to becoming dangerously violent.

"You should really stay at the hospital overnight, Agent Spade," one of them commented.

No. No way. I detest hospitals.

"I'm fine, really," I had begun to protest when Jack appeared by my side.

"Giving the nice men hell, Sam?" He sounded rather amused and quirked a grin in my direction.

"She should be kept at the hospital overnight," the other paramedic informed Jack, much to my annoyance.

"I don't think that's necessary," I reiterated. 

"Sure it is," Jack answered, and he was rewarded with the fiercest glare I could muster. "C'mon, Sam. It's just one night. You'll feel better."  
I rolled my eyes, but even as I did so I knew the battle was lost. One look into those dark eyes and all my resolve disappeared.

"Fine. But I'm not riding in a damn ambulance."

"I'll take you," Jack offered, his tone leaving no room for argument from the paramedics or myself.

We bid goodbye to Vivian and Danny, who had just arrived on the scene moments before, and slid into Jack's vehicle. 

The ride was short and uneventful, and mostly spent tossing around scenarios regarding the anonymous caller. We finally decided he had most likely been an accomplice plagued by guilt.

I was settled into a room in a relatively brief amount of time, and having Jack in the room with me was strange, but, his presence was, as always, a comfort, and I was grateful to him for being there. After the nurses had left, he took the seat next to my bed.

"Thanks for staying," I turned my head to the side, smiling warmly at him.

"Thanks for the hug," he countered, and I could feel the flush on my cheeks and neck.

"Anytime," and I meant it.

We fell into silence, and I could see the lines of stress etched across Jack's face.

"Hey." I waited until his eyes met mine before continuing, "You okay?"

He smiled with his mouth, but there was such a deep sadness in his eyes, and I held his gaze patiently as he slowly shook his head.

"I missed Hanna's game tonight," he spoke in barely a whisper.

I wasn't sure what to say.

"Final Four, huh?" I asked sympathetically. That squeezed a brief grin from him.

"Nah. Just a regular school game, but I told her I'd try to be there." A broken smile. "I don't promise anymore. Too many I can't keep."

My heart ached for the obviously pained man sitting next to me.

"The thing is," he continued, staring at a vacant spot on the blank white wall, "there was no other choice. Andrea Solari had to be my focus tonight, and it was worth it. Her life, it was worth it." He shook his head. "Hanna and Kate can't understand that, not yet." A beat. "Marie doesn't understand it, either."

"It's hard to understand unless you're a part of it," I commented quietly. "It's hard to understand how a stranger's life has to be worth putting our own on hiatus." I looked straight into his eyes. "Promise me something, Jack? Promise me you'll go home, ask Hanna all about her game, and you won't feel guilty for helping to save another little girl's life." I was pleading with him, because I was desperate to erase the pained shadows drawn across his face.

"I wasn't much help anyway," he muttered, but his tone was much lighter than before. "That was pretty amazing, Sam."

"You helped more than you know," I assured him, because it was his voice that had kept my nerves at bay long enough to pull Andrea Solari from the inflamed crates.

He stood, smiling gently before he bent down, brushing his lips softly against the top of my head.

"Good night, sweetheart."  
The name slipped off his lips and thudded in my chest, making speech a near impossibility.

"Night, Jack," I managed to choke out as he gave me a final smile and disappeared out of my room.

A heavy silence resonated in his wake. I settled back into the pillow, trying to control my churning emotions.

It was like floating on your back in the ocean, and enjoying the easy, comfortable lilt of the waves that haven't quite broken, and then being blindsided by a knockout wave that grabs you, pulls you under and tosses you around until you're completely disoriented and breathless..except this felt so good.

Sometimes the knockout was worth it.

TBC..


	4. Empty

Window, Part 4.

Author's Note: Maple Street rocks harder than any forum, ever. Thank you all so much for the encouragement. "Amazing" doesn't even begin to describe this board. This is set about four months after the previous installment, around mid-August.

Ramona Kendal.

She had one of those names that just rolled off the tongue, and I found myself repeating it idly under my breath while trying to make some sense out of her intricate case.

Twenty years old. Student at Columbia University. Living with her parents for the summer. A beautiful, strong face framed by long black hair. Striking blue eyes.

Missing for thirty-six hours.

I didn't have to look up to know who was approaching. Jack's footfalls on the soft carpet had become as familiar to me as the small office table I was seated at, and I broke into an involuntary smile when he took his place next to me.

"Anything new?" One glance at his frustrated face told me the answer was a negative.

"Nothing." The word was followed by a heavy sigh, and I noticed how tired and drawn he looked.

"The roommates? No help," Danny announced as he and Vivian filed in.

"Neither have spoken to Ramona in over a month," Vivian expanded.

"That's not too unusual, I guess," Jack pointed out. "It's summer. People lose touch."

"What'd you find out at her work?" Danny directed his question to Jack, who shrugged.

"Just confirmation of what we already knew. She left work at nine, and no one has seen her since. No one noticed anything off about her behavior."

"No luck locating the cell phone or car," I supplied.

"And nothing was missing from her house," Vivian added.

"What about bank records?" Jack looked thoughtful.

"That's what I've been trying to figure out." I spread the papers out across the table. "Since the end of May, she's been making relatively small withdrawals, almost weekly. The last withdrawal was four nights ago. Never more than three hundred dollars, and usually less, but it adds up to almost two thousand in cash. With her paychecks being directly deposited, it's almost unnoticeable. It could mean nothing, but if it's significant.." I trailed off as understanding sparked in Jack's eyes.

"She's been planning this since May. Maybe longer." His voice was grim.

Danny looked rather impressed. "That's pretty smart. Small withdrawals over a long period of time, as opposed to one large, obvious withdrawal. Nice catch, Samantha."

"Why would she run off?" Vivian's query settled us into a contemplative silence, and then Jack turned to me.

"This girl. She reminds me of you," he stated bluntly, and I wasn't sure whether or not I should be offended, so I merely waited for him to continue.

"If you were going to take off, would you tell anyone?"

He saw. He saw right through me, and I never had a chance at all.

"A good friend, maybe." I responded, keeping my voice even and my tone mild.

"Parents mentioned an Eric Sullivan," Vivian supplied. "Said he and Ramona have been best friends since elementary school."

"Get an address?" Jack questioned the older woman.

A slight eye roll from Vivian. "What do you think?" I smothered a tiny grin as she handed him a slip of paper. I was still reeling from Jack's spot-on delve into my past, and almost didn't hear him inform me that we were about to pay Eric Sullivan a visit.

Eric Sullivan, a twenty-two year old chef at a local restaurant, lived only fifteen minutes away from Ramona Kendal. Pulling up alongside his moderate sized home, Jack and I found him outside, taking advantage of the gorgeous August weather. He looked up as we approached, and even from a distance I could see anxiety flash across his face.

"He knows something," I murmured to Jack as we crossed the grass, and he responded with an almost imperceptible nod.

"Eric Sullivan?" Jack took command as we reached him, and I used the opportunity to study the man in front of us. Tall, dark blonde hair, green eyes. His face was genial, though at the moment had contorted tensely as he nodded.

"I'm Agent Malone, and this is Agent Spade of the FBI. We're here to ask you some questions about Ramona Kendal."

Some people hide guilt well. Eric Sullivan wasn't one of them. He tried to assume an unaffected expression, but his pain at hearing her name was clear.

"What about Ramona?" He swallowed nervously.

"She's missing, but I think you already knew that," Jack informed the other man.

"What? Missing?"

Eric's attempt at shock was so pathetic I just barely refrained from rolling my eyes all the way into the back of my head.

"Stop with the games, Eric. You're no good at them," I spoke gently, because I didn't really believe he had done anything to harm Ramona.

Eric dropped his head into his hands, and seemed to struggle with himself before speaking again.

"Okay. Okay. She came here, two nights ago. Around 9:15, I guess. God, I was scared. I'd never seen her so..desperate, I guess." Now that Eric had started talking, it didn't seem like he would stop anytime soon. "She asked me..she asked me to hide her car here." He pointed to a garage partially hidden by the house before continuing, "Told me to keep it for a few months, and she'd call when she wanted me to sell it and send her the money. I didn't know what she was thinking. Next thing I know, her car's in my garage and she's in my bathroom, dying her hair this weird light brown shade. 'I have to get away.' She kept repeating that. I couldn't say no to her." Eric stopped abruptly, and I couldn't help feeling sympathy for this man who was so obviously in love with his best friend.

"What happened next?" Jack's voice had softened and lowered, and he took on the soothing tone I'd heard him use with witnesses so often. He had this way of making people feel like if they just told him their secrets, everything would be okay. 

God knows it worked on me.

"She left at about ten. On foot. She wouldn't let me drive her anywhere..she wouldn't tell me where she was going, or why." Tears had started to stream down Eric Sullivan's face, and he appeared so much younger than his twenty-two years.

"You don't know where she is?"

"No. God, no. I have no idea."

"Why, Eric? Why do you think she ran off like this?" It had been bothering me ever since I discovered her weekly withdrawals.

"Ramona..I can't really describe her." A small smile from Eric. "She's this..gorgeous, free spirit..really smart and strong, but I always got the feeling.." He trailed off, focusing on a point behind us, on something we couldn't quite see. "She always seemed trapped. Her parents are nice enough, but God, they pressure her so much. School and work, too..it's like everything was so mundane to her. Tedious and frustrating and unimportant. Suffocating. I guess..she couldn't handle it anymore."

"And you don't know where she might have gone?" Jack reiterated his earlier question.

"No. She wouldn't tell me anything. But.." A shock of realization seemed to overcome Eric Sullivan. "But there's a train station about ten minutes from here. Oh, damn.."

Jack and I exchanged glances before turning back to Eric.

"Thank you, Eric." My voice was sincere.

"She's my best friend," Eric spoke suddenly, as we turned to leave. "But I hope you don't find her. Wherever she is..it's better for her." With a slight nod, Eric made his way back to the house.

"We've got to get her car," Jack said, flipping open his cell phone as he made a call to forensics.

"She doesn't want to be found, Jack," I stated quietly after he had closed the phone. He took his eyes off the road long enough to meet my own, and there was a resigned look on his face.

"I know. The ones who want to disappear..they're always the hardest."

"Ramona means 'wise protector'," I looked down at my hands before lifting my gaze. "I wonder who she's protecting?"

After a moment, he answered. "Herself, I think,"

"Eric said she wants to be free. Funny how 'free' and 'lost' seem to mean the same thing in this case," I pondered, resting back against the headrest of my seat.

"The line between those two isn't always clear," Jack agreed.

I turned to regard him, a question forming on my lips.

"Do I still remind you of her?"

There was a long pause, before he nodded.

"You're both smart. Unique. Strong. But most of all.." He pulled into a parking spot at the train station before continuing. "Ramona was trapped. I think you were too."

I closed my eyes against the burning of tears brimming behind my lids, and he spoke again.

"But I think you're free now, Sam." His voice had such a raw, honest quality to it. It soothed and exhilarated and found its way deep inside of me, and looking away was no longer an option. He had the darkest eyes, the darkest eyes I'd ever seen. Like a magnet, they drew me closer.

"Free, or lost?" It was barely a whisper, and I didn't recognize my own voice.

"Free," he answered. "Because if you were lost.." His hand found its way to my cheek, cupping it with an aching tenderness, "I would find you." 

I felt his thumb brush against the corner of my lips, before he pulled slowly away, giving me a smile. 

"We better get going," and there was no mistaking the reluctance in his otherwise brisk tone.

As we left the car, I couldn't help thinking that for the first time since I'd known him, Jack Malone was dead wrong.

I was lost.

I'd been lost since the day he found me.

TBC…


	5. Fears

Window, Part 5.

Author's Note: Set about a month after part 4. Much love to the most incredible forum ever to exist; thank you so much, Maple Street.

It was such a strange experience.

Dragging the eraser across the sleek whiteboard, eradicating with a simple swipe the life we had worked so hard to put together. It didn't seem right, investigating and searching and interrogating, all to end up, ultimately, with a board just as blank as the one we had started with. 

Yet here I was on our empty, silent floor, removing the past forty-eight hours of Matthew Keeley's existence from the board, from sight, from memory.

Maybe not from memory. I don't think I could ever forget the expression of horror, the agony on Adrienne Keeley's pale face when Jack looked her in the eyes and told her softly, gently, that her husband had been killed.

I tossed the eraser lightly in the air and caught it, memorizing the shape and texture all the while fervently wishing it was my softball instead. It was times like these I needed to be reminded that life wasn't all pain and emptiness and blank white boards.

With a sigh, I set the eraser down and looked around me with a slight feeling of uncertainty. My report was finished and it was late; the obvious choice was to go home.

Except that amidst the chilling darkness of the unit, a light still burned in Jack's office.

The door opened silently, and I slipped cautiously into the illuminated room. At first, I didn't think he was aware of my presence. He was seated at his desk, eyes closed, his head resting in his hands. The air was heavy and smothering, and I wondered if this was a moment too private, too personal for me to witness.

"Sam."

His head rose and his eyes opened, and the torment on his face was so intense I had to grab the wall for support.

"Jack, what.." I had been about to ask what was wrong, except his head had fallen back into his hands, and the words forming on my lips no longer seemed adequate.

Before I could move, he stood and fixed his broken gaze on me.

"She loved him."

I didn't have to ask who Jack meant.

"God, Sam, she loved him so much."

Hollow and resigned, his voice didn't match the desperate pain on his face.

He tore his eyes from mine and glanced down at his left hand, and suddenly it was so clear.

"I wish I knew what that felt like."

The quiet hurt that crept into his soft tone was almost too much to bear.

Our eyes met again, forged a connection across the vast, weighted stillness, pierced through the suffocating tension, and abandoning all sense of reason and logic, I took a step forward.

Suddenly I was back against the wall, and he was inches from me, so close, and we were breathing the same air, and then I wasn't breathing at all, and he was ducking his head and brushing his lips across mine with a tenderness that resonated through every part of me, and I wasn't surprised. 

Wasn't surprised when he pulled back slightly, and I saw the hazy fire burning in those dark eyes. Wasn't surprised when he took a step even closer, bringing his firm body flush with mine. Wasn't surprised to feel his hand tracing the contour of my jaw, leaving a trail of scorched skin in its wake. Wasn't surprised when he bent again, and his mouth returned as a lingering contact on my own.

Wasn't surprised that this moment I had dreamed about, envisioned, played in my head a thousand times over, was more powerful than anything I could have ever imagined.

He was warm and solid and soft and wrong and wonderful, and any coherent thought I had left disappeared when he slipped an arm behind my back, between my body and the wall, lifted a hand to my cheek and uttered a low moan against my lips.

We finally broke apart, gasping for air, and I let the wall support me as Jack's hand moved from my back to my hip. I covered it with my own, entangling our fingers together as our eyes met again, and I saw every shred of emotion and desire I'd carried with me for so long reflected in those black eyes.

"Jack.." I stopped. I didn't want to talk, not when he was standing here, completely open, offering me everything I tried to pretend I didn't want but knew I desperately needed. I didn't want to talk because I wasn't ready to hear a voice full of guilt and regret.

Instead, I tugged gently on his hand, and together we left his office behind.

It was warm in the elevator. It was warm but I was cold, because we stood on opposite sides and the temperature in the confined space just wasn't enough; my body craved the heat emanating from his still form.

The distance, I couldn't stand the distance between us, and so I closed it, moving across the elevator with a shyness I didn't know I still possessed.

For the second time that night, we were so close. The elevator was slow and so was the kiss; a gentle exploration that sent every nerve in my body flying into overdrive. I memorized the rough texture of his hair and the soft angles of his face, and he pulled me more firmly to him, and when the doors slid open he didn't let go of me. His fingers, so reassuring, stayed closed warmly around my own as we stepped out, and I realized then that I never wanted him to let go. 

The ride to my apartment was silent. It was as if words would destroy this delicate, fragile world we had created, and so we didn't speak at all. His hand ran a light, idle pattern up my leg, and even through my skirt his touch was scalding.

I was breathless by the time we reached our destination and abandoned the cab for my darkened street.

The key was in my hand and the door was right there, and I knew it would take only a simple turn of the wrist for us to step across the edge, to move through and beyond and above what was right, and moral, and accepted, to leave behind everything safe in favor of something dangerous and completely unknown.

Was I ready?

Was he?

One look. I raised my head and met his gaze, instantly falling victim to the intense desire in those dark eyes, mitigated slightly by a look of such touching concern that I couldn't help the small smile from spreading across my lips.

One touch. Standing there just outside my door, I closed my eyes in reflex as his hand traveled softly down the side of my cheek, stopping just under my jaw. My heart thudded on an irregular beat, and I knew.

One look, one touch, and, ready or not, I would follow him across the edge.

[end]


End file.
